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50 Shades of Gus

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Gus stiffened with fear as he realised he was there again. The dungeon.

The darkness and cold enveloped him as he stood chained to the wall. Cold, sheer terror gripped his stomach as he heard the footsteps slowly approach. He knew it was happening again, yet was powerless to stop it.

A low moan escaped from his lips as the heavy door opened and the hooded figure stood there, waiting and watching. Gus felt his heart pound faster as the figure moved closer, soon the hand would reach out to his body. Touching him, doing things to him, sex things...


The dream fogged out of focus and Gus was once again in his bed, lying in a pool of bodily emissions. The hush of the early morning was broken by his jagged breathing, a mixture of terror, relief and deep, dark shame. Frozen on his back, Gus remembered the dream and the forbidden pleasure he felt. He was such a dirty boy and had to be punished.

He slowly shuffled to the bathroom, shedding his monogrammed pyjamas to reveal the sticky betrayal of his body. He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror, averting his gaze from the monstrosity he was.

Soaking hot water soon flooded over him, a loofah full of Executive Alertness Body Wash For Men washed away the funk of the nightmare. Gus gingerly swooped over his genitals, turning his head away as the long, thin washer caressed his manhood. He whimpered, then turned off the hot water to stand huffing and shivering in the purifying cold onslaught.

He clutched at the loofah with both hands, the white foam oozing over his abdomen and down one leg.
Moaning and sobbing, Gus leant against the shower tiles, cold against his forehead.

Night after night, week after week, the nightmares always returned. Gus was a walking wreck.


Gus gripped the wheel, his fingers tapping as he glared at the traffic signals, willing them to change.

A pedestrian walking by caught his eye. The man slouched forward in the drizzle, his head obscured by a hoodie. Gus chewed on his lip and averted his gaze, straight onto another hooded figure.

"No!" A horn beeped as he threw his hands over his face. He started to rock back and forth as another beep cut through the air. With a growl of rage, Gus finally put the car into gear and drove on just as the green light went back to red, leaving behind the following car, now stuck on the red light. He shut out the distant cry of "Tosser!"


Another night, another nightmare. Gus watched in dread as Dave stalked around the room, stopping every now and again to stare and leer. He moved away and returned with a gold silken tie. Gus recognised it as his favourite one, from the Executive Select Range. Dave rolled the tie around a fist, then tenderly slid it over Gus's cheek, letting unravel as he went. He draped it around Gus's neck, pulling his face close. The scent of cigarettes and cheap beer on his breath as he mouthed kisses at his captive.

Gus whimpered with shame as Dave pushed his body closer. He tried to back into the cold, damp wall as much as he could while Dave ground his groin into him. The breath hitched in Gus's throat as his body responded to the stimulation, something which Dave did not miss.

Dave slid the tie from his neck with a final caress across the cheek, then Gus squealed in shock as his boxers were pulled down, revealing his erection.

“My, my.” Dave observed with a throaty laugh. “You are enjoying this, aren't you?”

Gus jabbered and found himself replying, “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Let's see what else I can do, then?” Dave wrapped the tie around Gus's cock and pulled it tight enough to make Gus gasp. “Not tight enough?”

Gus could only stammer wordless sounds as Dave took the other end and pushed it into his mouth. Gus sucked on it hungrily as Dave pushed more and more of the tie in. Gus winced as the tie started to dig in and drag up his cock, but he couldn't stop sucking.
He found himself blacking out until he opened his eyes to the early morning.

Fortunately for his neighbours, the walls of his apartment were sufficiently thick to block out most of his howls of anguish.


In the newsroom, Helen sorted some papers and announced the morning run through. "Right, item 1 is a toss up between the new government scandal, and the Euro crisis."

As she paused to check an item coming up on her terminal, Henry looked up from a newspaper. "New government scandal, and the Euro crisis? Which ones? Be more specific."

Helen nodded. "Fair enough, I'm talking about Mandelson's troubles-"

Joy walked around with some hand outs and muttered, "Like he said, which ones?"

Helen gave Joy a disapproving look then frowned as Gus walked in, his face like a storm cloud. "Are you okay, Gus?"

Gus twitched slightly as he looked over to the team, then nodded curtly, before he added a half-hearted reply, "Morning news-hounds, let's pop some bread in the news toaster and see what pops up-" He stopped abruptly as Dave walked by, yawned and idly smacked a ruler against his palm. "Carry on," Gus continued, his voice like a ghost, before he scurried away to his office.

Dave stared at his retreating figure and turned to Henry. "He's running low on bullshit this morning. That almost made sense."

Henry nodded. "Indeed. He might have to dip into the horse shit reserves at this rate. Better put a call into the Royal Horse Guards for a fresh batch."

"Gentlemen, please. We have a running order to do," Helen's exasperated voice cut across the table.

George looked up at the ceiling and sighed, his voice full of foreboding. "Animal manure can be very difficult to get out of a car, you know. Deborah once did that when I wouldn't let her go to a punk rock concert. Derek and the Dung Heads, they were called. Not very nice at all, is it?” He settled back into his musings.

Helen was ready to bang her head against the desk as Sally packed up her make-up kit. "All this talk about animal droppings, so unnecessary." With that, she flounced away out of the room.

"Sally, we're not finished. Oh, for God's sake." Helen threw up her arms.

Joy placed a piece of paper before her. "There's this. A certain expensive make-up brand found to have high levels of civet cat shit in them. Product recall, shoddy factory conditions, executive sackings, the lot."

Henry grinned evilly and held up Sally's make-up case. "Please tell me it's this brand of freebie gunk."

Joy simply smiled in return.


Gus watched the scene from behind his fingers. Shock, horror, fascination, repulsion overloaded his system and he stood, unable to tear his eyes away. Hearing a sound, he hastily pressed the stop button and ejected Damien's piece on the seedy underbelly of the BDSM lifestyle.

The edit room door opened and Damien stopped in the doorway. "Oh. You busy, Gus? It's just that I've got this great footage, you'll love it!"

Gus laughed hollowly as he started out the door. "Terrific. Another award winning greyhound chasing the electronic rabbit of newsiness!"

"I haven't told you what it is yet." Damien shrugged, his pride deflating as he waved the video at the now empty doorway.



“Dave! Wake up, dear boy.” Henry prodded him with a pen for the third time.

“I wasn't!” Dave muttered, as he rubbed his eyes.

“Too much totty and booze. You're getting old. Never mind, leaves more for me,” Henry laughed.

Dave ran a hand through his hair. “Moonlighting's a bugger. Why do I keep putting accumulators on three-legged greyhounds?”

Joy slapped some papers on his desk as she whisked part. “Because you're a loser, Dave.”

Sally called out from the other side of the desk. “Yes, Dave. You're a sad, clapped out little man. In a few years you'll look exactly like Henry.”

“Oh, what? Is this Pick on Dave Day?” Dave sank back into his chair, frustrated and defensive.

Henry chuckled back at him. “Of course it's not Pick on Dave Day, it's Pick on Dave Week.”

As Dave planted his face into the desk, Helen sighed. “Never mind, Dave. Have a chocolate.” As she threw a small bar at him, he looked up and it smacked him in the face.

“Oh, gosh, I'm sorry.” Helen tried valiantly to keep from laughing as Dave nodded in resignation and pressed his face back on the desk.


Back in his office, Gus sat down and gripped a crumpled bit of notepaper like his life and sanity depended upon it. It was the only way. He opened the piece of paper and stared at the address and phone number.

Gus looked up and down the dark street, his coat collar pulled his to his face, hat tugged low almost over his eyes.
Something propelled his legs forward, walking briskly toward the very discreet entrance. A soft glow lit up the buzzer and he clenched his fist before pressing it.

An oddly nondescript man opened the door and Gus blinked a few times before saying, “I'm Mr. 'G'. We established a telephone communication vis-à-vis , uh...uh. You know.”
The man nodded in recognition and ushered him towards a side room. Gus fought the instinct to run, and found himself following.

The man spoke. “Right, Mr. 'G.', what we're gonna do is arrange an executive stress relieving scenario, involving strict role play and inter-personal dominant-subordinate communications. Cash only, safe word is Thatcher."

"Oh, thank God, you understand my needs!" Gus sighed in relief.

The man held out a hand for the payment and showed him to another room.


Left alone for a moment, Gus took the chance to look closer at some of the tools of the trade. He picked up a leather hood and slowly slid it over his head, peering out from the eye-holes. The closeness of the leather was strangely comforting and his fear subsided a little.

His heart rate shot up again as the door opened and a figure strode in behind him. Gus remained rigidly fixed to the spot, eyes glued to a chain fitted to the lower part of the wall.

Gus could only listen intently as the door closed and the figure paced back and forth. A gentle tap on his shoulder set the blood racing in his ears, the man's voice clouded by the roaring, rushing sound.


Gus instantly sank to his knees, head tilted down, willing himself to not melt and sink through the floor, or worse, bolt out the door and back to the nightmares. He could see the fabric of a long robe and heavy, black boots before him. His body shuddered with a sigh as the Dom held a riding crop under his chin and drew his face up.

Gus fought to keep his eyes fixed on the floor as the Dom stroked the whip along Gus's chin and quietly asked, "What do you say?"

"Yes, S-Sir," Gus stammered. A shock of recognition nearly stopped his heart and he suddenly looked up. "Dave?"

The Dom staggered back, the hood of his robe falling back onto his shoulders, as he exclaimed, "Bloody hell! Gus?"


They stared at each other, lost in their own worst nightmares until Gus suddenly made a break towards the door. His escape was impeded by the hooded mask and fell flat on his face. He struggled with the mask, stopping dead as Dave knelt by him and helped it off.

Silence. Deep, awkward, embarrassing silence.

Dave coughed softly. "Look, this never happened. I just need the money, you just need to get your rocks off. Tomorrow, just another day. Like usual." He stopped, then tapped Gus on the shoulder. "Are you okay? Gus?"

Gus slowly sat up and turned to face Dave, face pale, eyes full of dread. He finally moaned, then said, "This is still the nightmare. Every night, you do terrible things to me. Every single night. First Joy, now you. What new torment will you force upon me?"

Dave stared at his boss and swallowed. The man was a wretched sight, eyes wild from lack of sleep, hair drenched with sweat. Dave gently pleaded, "Look, dream yourself home, then go to bed. I promise I won't ever invade your dreams again."

Gus nodded once, then scrambled out of the room, leaving Dave to slump down in a groaning, sobbing heap.


The rattle of a late night Clapham train echoed in the background as Dave yawned. He sprawled across his bed and drifted off to sleep.
Only he could have the bad luck to run into Gus while moonlighting. He was just getting on top of his debts, and now he was saddled with the memory of Gus and his dreams. He shoved a pillow over his head and tried his hardest to just fall asleep.

Darkness enveloped him as he moved down a passageway. A dim light shone in the distance and he found himself in front of a wooden door, bars on the window. He opened the door and entered inside, then walked toward the chained figure and stood before the terrified, half naked man.

Dave pushed back his hood and stared at Gus, then reached out to his boxer shorts.

The screech of an early morning Clapham train echoed in the background as Dave screamed awake.


Across London, Gus woke up refreshed and content after a deep, uninterrupted night's sleep. He smiled and felt at peace.